When He's SixtyFour
by maskofjack
Summary: A collection of songfics tracing Vincent's life from age five onward.  Updated when I write something.  It'll eventually get into romance stuff, but I'm in his childhood right now  .   Reviews needed so I can become a better writer, y'know?
1. When I'm SixtyFour

**It's been forever since I've written anything, and I'm procrastinating because I have a huge paper due on Paradise Lost in like a week. But I decided to give some special attention to none other than… Vincent Valentine. You see, I love him, and the prospect of making him… **_**happy**_**. So I decided to recreate his life with a series of songfics. I need more writing practice, and I've never written a song fic. Should be fun! A confession: I've read thousands of fan fics about Vinny-boy **_**before**_** I ever played a game with him. And I'm playing FF7 atm, but I haven't gotten to Nibleheim yet SO if he's out of character, my apologies. But he's pretty emo, so if I channel dead puppies and sadness I should be good :P**

**Will eventually be Yuffentine.**

When I'm Sixty-Four

The Beatles

"_When I get older losing my hair,  
>Many years from now,<br>Will you still be sending me a valentine  
>Birthday greetings bottle of wine?"<em>

Vincent Valentine was five years old when he realized that he would not always be five years old; he'd grow up to be just like his dad and get married to someone just like his mom. He'd have little Vincent Jr.'s running around, making messes and friends and growing up to be just like him. Young Vincent Valentine looked forward to growing up and being just like his dad.

Then he looked around his grandparents' house and realized that his grandfather had surely been young once. If people grew up, then they had to start small. So that meant… that meant his grandfather had been five years old before, and Vincent in turn would be sixty-four one day. He'd have bright white hair and glasses and he'd have a cane… suddenly, growing up didn't seem okay anymore. Not if he had to get old. What if his wife didn't like old men? What if she left him alone as he aged, and he had to stay in his house all day and wait for his grandkids to come by on Sundays for an hour, and then go back to being lonely when they left? No, five-year-old Vincent did not want to get older.

"_You'll be older too,  
>And if you say the word,<br>I could stay with you."_

He supposed little girls turned into women. And women turned into old women. So… maybe his wife wouldn't mind being with him when he was old, if she was old too. They would be old together, and that would be okay, he supposed. He could fix her house, while she knitted by the fire place. And he'd have a garden, just like his grandfather had. Then they could be farmers, like most of the old people in the Wutaiian countryside. And his children would bring their children, and they'd listen to stories about when their grandpa was a kid.

Then they'd go home, and he'd be left with his wife, who was also sixty-four. And they'd hold hands (but he wouldn't kiss her, because she'd be a girl and have cooties) and they'd hobble off to sit on the porch and yell at cats to "scram", because that's what old people do. Then it would get dark and they'd go to bed, and maybe talk about when they were younger. And since the idea seemed pretty good, Vincent decided once-and-for-all that growing up was okay.

"_Send me a postcard, drop me a line,  
>Stating point of view.<br>Indicate precisely what you mean to say  
>Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.<em>

_Give me your answer, fill in a form  
>Mine for evermore<br>Will you still need me, will you still feed me,  
>When I'm sixty-four?"<em>

He supposed nothing was set in stone. First he'd have to find a girl to marry. And he couldn't do that until he grew up. Then, once he found her, he'd ask if she'd be okay with getting older. And, and if she said yes, well then Vincent Valentine would have found his soul mate. And even though he was only five years old, he knew that the concept would be extremely important to him one day, when he was sixty-four.

**That was terrible xD I've never done this before! Reviews would be wonderful, I need some criticism. Also, I don't have to use all of the lyrics, just the ones that directly apply, yeah? Hopefully, the next one will be longer and sadder, because I know what it's about and it's sad. Very sad.**


	2. Wonderful

Wonderful- Everclear

"_I close my eyes when I get too sad  
>I think thoughts that I know are bad<br>Close my eyes and I count to ten  
>Hope it's over when I open them"<em>

He was only six years old when mom and dad started fighting. His dad would come home late, when the moon was high in the sky and lit up the world like a light bulb. He'd be carrying his briefcase and Vincent would see the scowl on his face when his mother would come outside. They'd start yelling, and Vincent didn't know why. Sometimes he thought it was his fault that his dad wasn't home anymore, that his mom never smiled, that their life was crumbling. He didn't know what he'd done, but he felt like he'd broken everything and he was falling through the cracks, and he'd land on the rubble, and that he _deserved it_ for making them unhappy. Right now, though, as he watched them fight, he felt more like he was drowning in all of the tears he held inside, because he shouldn't be able to cry. Not when it was somehow entirely his fault.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the yelling to end. He tried counting to ten, tried counting sheep, tried singing the lullabies that his mother _used_ to sing, before she screamed at his dad all night. But he couldn't hear himself over their fighting. He thought about running away and telling his grandpa what was happening, but he didn't think that would work. He was so angry at them that he said every single bad-word he could think of, and then he sobbed, because now he _knew _why they fought. They were fighting because he was bad. Because he thought mean things, because he watched them outside, because he just wanted to run away and never come back. They blamed each other because he was bad. Somewhere, in the darkness, he gave up on holding the tears and cried himself to sleep.

"Close my eyes when I go to bed  
>And I dream of angels who make me smile<br>I feel better when I hear them say  
>Everything will be wonderful someday"<p>

His dream wasn't like the darkness, where he fell and drowned and had to hear their anger. His dream was light and bright, and he was in a field and could hear the angels telling him that everything happened for a reason, that he'd be happy later on. He felt like he could fly with them in the clouds and just _never_ wake up, never face the fighting. Here he could be a little boy and he could run with lions and lambs in Heaven. He didn't want to go back home. He wanted to run down golden streets and hear the angels say "everything will be wonderful someday" because that's what he wanted to hear, needed to hear, from someone besides his parents who were too busy being angry to notice him. He wanted to play in the white, warm sunlight because it was so much better than the cold, icy moon that showed him his worst nightmare. He never thought a dream could be better than real life. He'd never realized that sleep was a good way to stop everything.

"Promises mean everything when you're little  
>And the world's so big<br>I just don't understand how  
>You can smile with all those tears in your eyes<br>Tell me everything is wonderful now"

"Vincent. Vincent, it's Daddy. You need to wake up, buddy."

Vincent almost cried. He _needed_ that dream. He needed his heaven to get away from this hell. He didn't want to open his eyes, because somewhere, deep down, he knew what his dad would say the one thing he couldn't stand to hear.

"Vince, c'mon. I do not have much time…"

Little Vincent Valentine opened his puffy, red eyes, surprised to find that his father's matched. Had his dad been crying too?

"Vincent… your mother has requested that I leave…"

"Grimoire! Don't blame this on me!"

"Anastasia, not in front of the child! Vincent… Daddy loves you, and he'll miss you. But he promises he'll see you again, okay?"

No. Not it **wasn't** okay and it never would be, because his dad was crying and his mom was angry. It wasn't right. He felt sick to his stomach, and he wanted to throw up. He was falling through the cracks again and drowning. It made him dizzy and nauseous and he vomited _right on the floor_ as he sobbed. His dad grabbed him and held him and they cried together, and it _just was not okay_. No matter what his dad said, it wasn't okay and it wouldn't be okay, and he wasn't going to pretend it was.

He ventured to look at his mother. She didn't look upset. She didn't look happy. She was apathetic. She'd given up on everything, on him, his dad, their home. She didn't move to comfort him, or clean the vomit. What kind of mother was she? She just stared at him out of stormy gray eyes and moved her lightning-white hair behind her ear. She looked old and sick and right now he wished she was because he _hated her_ and if she was old and sick, she'd die. And of course, he knew those thoughts were bad, but so was this.

"Vincent, I love you."

His dad smiled as he said it, smiled through the tears. It reminded him of the sunny days in his heaven-dreams. That smile was a lighthouse through the storm and the flood and the falling. He never wanted to let go. When he said he loved his dad back, his mom shoved his dad out of the room, and said everything would be better now. Her promise was nothing like his dad's. Her promise meant something was wrong before. The only thing wrong, however, was right now. And it was her fault.

"I go to school and I run and play  
>I tell the kids that it's all okay<br>I laugh aloud so my friends won't know  
>When the bell rings I just don't wanna go home"<p>

For a while, Vincent pretended like everything was okay. He spoke to his friends and played with them at recess. He acted like he had fun when they played house, acted like he cared about being "it" in tag, acted like he didn't want to be found when they played hide-and-go-seek. But inside, he hated house, because it reminded him of the one he used to have. He wanted to be "it", so he could link arms with people as they tagged the others, just so he wasn't alone. He wanted to be found, because it meant someone bothered to look for him. During this time, Vincent Valentine perfected his poker-face. No one knew what he was really thinking, really feeling. No one knew that he hurt inside every time someone mentioned dads and moms. No one knew that he liked school. No one knew that he wanted to stay there, because it certainly beat going home to his mother.

"Go to my room and I close my eyes  
>I make believe that I have a new life<br>I don't believe you when you say  
>Everything will be wonderful someday"<p>

He didn't stop in the living room when he got home. He ran straight upstairs to his room and hid in his closet. He didn't want to think about the people downstairs drinking with his mom. He didn't want to think about all of the men she tried to replace his dad with. He just sat in the dark and closed his eyes, trying to imagine living with his dad. He imagined sitting on his dad's lap while he did paperwork at his big desk. He thought about his dad's smile and they way he said "I love you" when his mother never did. He didn't believe either of them, when they said it would be okay. It couldn't be okay. His mom kept letting strangers talk to him, and his dad was somewhere else, doing something else, and didn't know.

"I don't wanna meet your friends  
>And I don't wanna start over again<br>I just want my life to be the same  
>Just like it used to be<br>Some days I hate everything  
>I hate everything<br>Everyone and everything  
>Please don't tell me everything is wonderful now..."<p>

"Vincent, come downstairsh!" His mother slurred, like she did every evening. "Meet my friendsh!"

He didn't want to meet them, but he certainly didn't want them to drag him downstairs again while she laughed. He couldn't handle this. He didn't want to handle this. He didn't want one of them to be his new dad. He didn't want this life. He wanted his dad back. He wanted to know why this had to happen. He wanted to go to sleep. Sleep was the only way to fix his problems. He hated everything, hated _this_, and hated them. He just wanted to curl up and dream, because it wouldn't be okay. Because if this was the 'okay' they were talking about, then he wanted to go back to the bad time. He was sick of her friends, sick of her, and sick of the word "okay." Nothing would be wonderful, or okay, and he knew it. At six-years-old, he knew it.

**I feel so bad for little Vincent :( But let's face it, obviously he had **_**some**_** motivation for joining the Turks and finding his dad. Once again, I don't think I did it justice. My goal here is to get better, so I need your criticism por favor.**


End file.
